His First Wife by Grace Octavia

Author:Grace Octavia [Octavia, Grace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2013-08-12T16:00:00+00:00

Baby Week II

November 2007

I always thought it sounded clichéd when I’d see a friend who’d just given birth and I’d ask how old the baby was and she’d give me a long, drawn-out answer like, “Two years, four months, two weeks, and a day!”

But my first two weeks with Tyrian were nothing short of cliché. He was the “apple of my eye,” “the beat of my heart,” and, clearly, “the most beautiful baby in the world.” So, whenever Jamison and I would run into folks at the doctor’s office, and they’d ask how old he was, I’d count each second of his life and offer it up with pride. I’d explain that my beautiful baby boy was two weeks, one day, and eighteen hours old. I’d add that since he’d met the world, Tyrian had managed to figure out how to scream to indicate that he was very hungry (which was quite different than his “I’m awake, so I can eat now” hungry cry), blink his eyes without falling back to sleep, and keep his hand open. Then I’d pull out my digital camera to prove that he’d indeed achieved all of these things. The poor innocent bystander would then smile graciously, and inside I’d know that they thought I was crazy (like I once thought of the other mothers I knew), but I didn’t care. I was in baby bliss land and no lack of outside participation could stop me.

Tyrian really was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. Really. His color was the perfect mix of mine and Jamison’s, a soft oatmeal with undertones of caramel and copper. When we first brought him home, he looked like a little scoop of toasted almond ice cream, but even in the cold winter months, he’d managed to find his rich color. His eyes, though, were a complete surprise to everyone. Jamison had been born with dark green eyes, the color of emeralds, so we expected Tyrian’s to be the same, but instead his were an intense brown. So brown, in fact, that they looked black. Little marbles that pierced so deep, even in his two weeks of life when he could hardly focus long on one thing without falling asleep, people would comment about how serious and intense his eyes were. It was as if he could look into you, know that you were hiding something.

Now, my sweet boy, who wanted nothing of the world but to be fed and kissed on his hands (that calmed him), was on to something with these piercing eyes. We were hiding something, Jamison and I. We were hiding something from the world and even ourselves. In fact, we’d taken a few steps past hiding and were establishing permanent residence in the land of denial. That was because with all of the cute stuff we’d had to do with Tyrian, dedicating all of our positive energy to him from the moment he was born, we’d both nonverbally agreed to live separate emotional lives.

We’d smile at the baby, but never at each other.

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